CHAPTER VI. THE ARRIVAL OF THE COUNT DE LA ROCHE, AND THE VARIOUSEXCITEMENT PRODUCED ON MANY PERSONAGES BY THAT EVENT.
The prudence of the archbishop's counsel was so far made manifest, thaton the next day Montagu found all remonstrance would have been too late.The Count de la Roche had already landed, and was on his way to London.The citizens, led by Rivers partially to suspect the object of thevisit, were delighted not only by the prospect of a brilliant pageant,but by the promise such a visit conveyed of a continued peace with theircommercial ally; and the preparations made by the wealthy merchantsincreased the bitterness and discontent of Montagu. At length, at thehead of a gallant and princely retinue, the Count de la Roche enteredLondon. Though Hastings made no secret of his distaste to the Count dela Roche's visit, it became his office as lord chamberlain to meet thecount at Blackwall, and escort him and his train, in gilded barges, tothe palace.
In the great hall of the Tower, in which the story of Antiochus waspainted by the great artists employed under Henry III., and on theelevation of the dais, behind which, across Gothic columns, stretcheddraperies of cloth-of-gold, was placed Edward's chair of state. Aroundhim were grouped the Dukes of Clarence and Gloucester, the LordsWorcester, Montagu, Rivers, D'Eyncourt, St. John, Raoul de Fulke, andothers. But at the threshold of the chamber stood Anthony Woodville, theknightly challenger, his knee bound by the ladye-badge of the S. S.,and his fine person clad in white-flowered velvet of Genoa, adorned withpearls. Stepping forward, as the count appeared, the gallant Englishmanbent his knee half-way to the ground, and raising the count's hand tohis lips, said in French, "Deign, noble sir, to accept the gratitude ofone who were not worthy of encounter from so peerless a hand, saveby the favour of the ladies of England, and your own courtesy, whichennobles him whom it stoops to." So saying, he led the count towards theking.
De la Roche, an experienced and profound courtier, and justly deservingHall's praise as a man of "great witte, courage, valiantness, andliberalitie," did not affect to conceal the admiration which theremarkable presence of Edward never failed to excite; lifting his handto his eyes, as if to shade them from a sudden blaze of light, he wouldhave fallen on both knees, but Edward with quick condescension raisedhim, and, rising himself, said gayly,--
"Nay, Count de la Roche, brave and puissant chevalier, who hath crossedthe seas in honour of knighthood and the ladies, we would, indeed,that our roiaulme boasted a lord like thee, from whom we might ask suchhomage. But since thou art not our subject, it consoles us at least thatthou art our guest. By our halidame, Lord Scales, thou must look wellto thy lance and thy steed's girths, for never, I trow, hast thou met achampion of goodlier strength and knightlier mettle."
"My lord king," answered the count, "I fear me, indeed, that a knightlike the Sieur Anthony, who fights under the eyes of such a king, willprove invincible. Did kings enter the lists with kings, where, throughbroad Christendom, find a compeer for your Highness?"
"Your brother, Sir Count, if fame lies not," returned Edward, slightlylaughing, and lightly touching the Bastard's shoulder, "were a fearfullance to encounter, even though Charlemagne himself were to revive withhis twelve paladins at his back. Tell us, Sir Count," added the king,drawing himself up,--"tell us, for we soldiers are curious in suchmatters, hath not the Count of Charolois the advantage of all here insinews and stature?"
"Sire," returned De la Roche, "my princely brother is indeed mightywith the brand and battle-axe, but your Grace is taller by half thehead,--and, peradventure, of even a more stalwart build; but that merestrength in your Highness is not that gift of God which strikes thebeholder most."
Edward smiled good-humouredly at a compliment the truth of which was tooobvious to move much vanity, and said with a royal and knightly grace,"Our House of York hath been taught, Sir Count, to estimate men's beautyby men's deeds, and therefore the Count of Charolois hath long beenknown to us--who, alas, have seen him not!--as the fairest gentlemanof Europe. My Lord Scales, we must here publicly crave your pardon. Ourbrother-in-law, Sir Count, would fain have claimed his right to hold youhis guest, and have graced himself by exclusive service to your person.We have taken from him his lawful office, for we kings are jealous, andwould not have our subjects more honoured than ourselves." Edward turnedround to his courtiers as he spoke, and saw that his last words hadcalled a haughty and angry look to the watchful countenance of Montagu."Lord Hastings," he continued, "to your keeping, as our representative,we intrust this gentleman. He must need refreshment ere we present himto our queen."
The count bowed to the ground, and reverently withdrew from the royalpresence, accompanied by Hastings. Edward then, singling AnthonyWoodville and Lord Rivers from the group, broke up the audience, and,followed by those two noblemen, quitted the hall.
Montagu, whose countenance had recovered the dignified and high-borncalm habitual to it, turned to the Duke of Clarence, and observedindifferently, "The Count de la Roche hath a goodly mien, and a fairtongue."
"Pest on these Burgundians!" answered Clarence, in an undertone, anddrawing Montagu aside. "I would wager my best greyhound to a scullion'scur that our English knights will lower their burgonets."
"Nay, sir, an idle holiday show. What matters whose lance breaks, orwhose destrier stumbles?"
"Will you not, yourself, cousin Montagu--you who are so peerless in thejoust--take part in the fray?"
"I, your Highness,--I, the brother of the Earl of Warwick, whom thispageant hath been devised by the Woodvilles to mortify and disparage inhis solemn embassy to Burgundy's mightiest foe!--I!"
"Sooth to say," said the young prince, much embarrassed, "it grievesme sorely to hear thee speak as if Warwick would be angered at thispastime. For, look you, Montagu, I, thinking only of my hate to Burgundyand my zeal for our English honour, have consented, as high constable,and despite my grudge to the Woodvilles, to bear the bassinet of our ownchampion, and--"
"Saints in heaven!" exclaimed Montagu, with a burst of his fiercebrother's temper, which he immediately checked, and changed into a tonethat concealed, beneath outward respect, the keenest irony, "I craveyour pardon humbly for my vehemence, Prince of Clarence. I suddenlyremember me that humility is the proper virtue of knighthood. YourGrace does indeed set a notable example of that virtue to the peers ofEngland; and my poor brother's infirmity of pride will stand rebuked foraye, when he hears that George Plantagenet bore the bassinet of AnthonyWoodville."
"But it is for the honour of the ladies," said Clarence, falteringly;"in honour of the fairest maid of all--the flower of English beauty--theLady Isabel--that I--"
"Your Highness will pardon me," interrupted Montagu; "but I do trust toyour esteem for our poor and insulted House of Nevile so far as to beassured that the name of my niece Isabel will not be submitted to theribald comments of a base-born Burgundian."
"Then I will break no lance in the lists!"
"As it likes you, prince," replied Montagu, shortly; and, with a lowbow, he quitted the chamber, and was striding to the outer gate of theTower, when a sweet, clear voice behind him called him by his name.He turned abruptly, to meet the dark eye and all-subduing smile of theboy-Duke of Gloucester.
"A word with you, Montagu, noblest and most prized, with your princelybrothers, of the champions of our House,--I read your generousindignation with our poor Clarence. Ay, sir! ay!--it was a weakness inhim that moved even me. But you have not now to learn that his nature,how excellent soever, is somewhat unsteady. His judgment alone lacksweight and substance,--ever persuaded against his better reason bythose who approach his infirmer side; but if it be true that our cousinWarwick intends for him the hand of the peerless Isabel, wiser headswill guide his course."
"My brother," said Montagu, greatly softened, "is much beholden to yourHighness for a steady countenance and friendship, for which I also,believe me--and the families of Beauchamp, Montagu, and Nevile--are dulygrateful. But to speak plainly (which your Grace's youthful candour,so all-acknowledged, will permit), the kinsmen of the queen do
now soaspire to rule this land, to marry or forbid to marry, not only our ownchildren, but your illustrious father's, that I foresee in this visit ofthe bastard Anthony the most signal disgrace to Warwick that ever kingpassed upon ambassador or gentleman. And this moves me more!--yea, I vowto Saint George, my patron, it moves me more--by the thought ofdanger to your royal House than by the grief of slight to mine; forWarwick--but you know him."
"Montagu, you must soothe and calm your brother if chafed. I impose thattask on your love for us. Alack, would that Edward listened more to meand less to the queen's kith! These Woodvilles!--and yet they may liveto move not wrath but pity. If aught snapped the thread of Edward's life(Holy Paul forbid!), what would chance to Elizabeth, her brothers, herchildren?"
"Her children would mount the throne that our right hands built," saidMontagu, sullenly.
"Ah, think you so?--you rejoice me! I had feared that the barons might,that the commons would, that the Church must, pronounce the unhappytruth, that--but you look amazed, my lord! Alas, my boyish years are toogarrulous!"
"I catch not your Highness's meaning."
"Pooh, pooh! By Saint Paul, your seeming dulness proves your loyalty;but with me, the king's brother, frankness were safe. Thou knowest wellthat the king was betrothed before to the Lady Eleanor Talbot; thatsuch betrothal, not set aside by the Pope, renders his marriage withElizabeth against law; that his children may (would to Heaven it werenot so!) be set aside as bastards, when Edward's life no longer shieldsthem from the sharp eyes of men."
"Ah," said Montagu, thoughtfully; "and in that case, George of Clarencewould wear the crown, and his children reign in England."
"Our Lord forefend," said Richard, "that I should say that Warwickthought of this when he deemed George worthy of the hand of Isabel. Nay,it could not be so; for, however clear the claim, strong and powerfulwould be those who would resist it, and Clarence is not, as you willsee, the man who can wrestle boldly,--even for a throne. Moreover, he istoo addicted to wine and pleasure to bid fair to outlive the king."
Montagu fixed his penetrating eyes on Richard, but dropped them,abashed, before that steady, deep, unrevealing gaze, which seemed topierce into other hearts, and show nothing of the heart within.
"Happy Clarence!" resumed the prince, with a heavy sigh, and after abrief pause,--"a Nevile's husband and a Warwick's son--what can thesaints do more for men? You must excuse his errors--all our errors--toyour brother. You may not know, peradventure, sweet Montagu, how deepan interest I have in maintaining all amity between Lord Warwick and theking. For methinks there is one face fairer than fair Isabel's, and oneman more to be envied than even Clarence. Fairest face to me in the wideworld is the Lady Anne's! happiest man between the cradle and the graveis he whom the Lady Anne shall call her lord! and if I--oh, look you,Montagu, let there be no breach between Warwick and the king! Fare youwell, dear lord and cousin,--I go to Baynard's Castle till these feastsare over."
"Does not your Grace," said Montagu, recovering from the surprise intowhich one part of Gloucester's address had thrown him--"does not yourGrace--so skilled in lance and horsemanship--preside at the lists?"
"Montagu, I love your brother well enough to displease my king. Thegreat earl shall not say, at least, that Richard Plantagenet in hisabsence forgot the reverence due to loyalty and merit. Tell him that;and if I seem (unlike Clarence) to forbear to confront the queen andher kindred, it is because you should make no enemies,--not the less forthat should princes forget no friends."
Richard said this with a tone of deep feeling, and, folding his armswithin his furred surcoat, walked slowly on to a small postern admittingto the river; but there, pausing by a buttress which concealed him tillMontagu had left the yard, instead of descending to his barge, he turnedback into the royal garden. Here several of the court of both sexeswere assembled, conferring on the event of the day. Richard halted at adistance, and contemplated their gay dresses and animated countenanceswith something between melancholy and scorn upon his young brow. Oneof the most remarkable social characteristics of the middle ages isthe prematurity at which the great arrived at manhood, shared in itspassions, and indulged its ambitions. Among the numerous instances inour own and other countries that might be selected from history, few aremore striking than that of this Duke of Gloucester, great in camp andin council at an age when nowadays a youth is scarcely trusted to thediscipline of a college. The whole of his portentous career was closed,indeed, before the public life of modern ambition usually commences.Little could those accustomed to see on our stage "the elderly ruffian"[Sharon Turner] our actors represent, imagine that at the openingof Shakspeare's play of "Richard the Third" the hero was but in hisnineteenth year; but at the still more juvenile age in which he appearsin this our record, Richard of Gloucester was older in intellect,and almost in experience, than many a wise man at the date ofthirty-three,--the fatal age when his sun set forever on the field ofBosworth!
The young prince, then, eyed the gaudy, fluttering, babbling assemblagebefore him with mingled melancholy and scorn. Not that he felt, with theacuteness which belongs to modern sentiment, his bodily defects amidstthat circle of the stately and the fair, for they were not of a natureto weaken his arm in war or lessen his persuasive influences in peace.But it was rather that sadness which so often comes over an active andambitious intellect in early youth, when it pauses to ask, in sorrow anddisdain, what its plots and counterplots, its restlessness and strife,are really worth. The scene before him was of pleasure,--but in pleasureneither the youth nor the manhood of Richard III. was ever pleased;though not absolutely of the rigid austerity of Amadis or our SaxonEdward, he was comparatively free from the licentiousness of his times.His passions were too large for frivolous excitements. Already theItalian, or, as it is falsely called, the Machiavelian policy, waspervading the intellect of Europe, and the effects of its ruthless,grand, and deliberate statecraft are visible from the accession ofEdward IV. till the close of Elizabeth's reign. With this policy, whichreconciled itself to crime as a necessity of wisdom, was often blended arefinement of character which disdained vulgar vices. Not skilled alonein those knightly accomplishments which induced Caxton, with propriety,to dedicate to Richard "The Book of the Order of Chivalry," the Duke ofGloucester's more peaceful amusements were borrowed from severer Gracesthan those which presided over the tastes of his royal brothers. Heloved, even to passion, the Arts, Music,--especially of the more Doricand warlike kind,--Painting and Architecture; he was a reader of books,as of men,--the books that become princes,--and hence that superiorknowledge of the principles of law and of commerce which his brief reignevinced. More like an Italian in all things than the careless Normanor the simple Saxon, Machiavel might have made of his character acompanion, though a contrast to that of Castruccio Castrucani.
The crowd murmured and rustled at the distance, and still with foldedarms Richard gazed aloof, when a lady, entering the garden from thepalace, passed by him so hastily that she brushed his surcoat, and,turning round in surprise, made a low reverence, as she exclaimed,"Prince Richard! and alone amidst so many!"
"Lady," said the duke, "it was a sudden hope that brought me into thisgarden,--and that was the hope to see your fair face shining above therest."
"Your Highness jests," returned the lady, though her superb countenanceand haughty carriage evinced no opinion of herself so humble as herwords would imply.
"My Lady of Bonville," said the young duke, laying his hand on her arm,"mirth is not in my thoughts at this hour."
"I believe your Highness; for the Lord Richard Plantagenet is not one ofthe Woodvilles. The mirth is theirs to-day."
"Let who will have mirth,--it is the breath of a moment. Mirth cannottarnish glory,--the mirror in which the gods are glassed."
"I understand you, my lord," said the proud lady; and her face, beforestern and high, brightened into so lovely a change, so soft and winninga smile, that Gloucester no longer marvelled that that smile had rainedso large an influence on the fate and h
eart of his favourite Hastings.The beauty of this noble woman was indeed remarkable in its degree, andpeculiar in its character. She bore a stronger likeness in feature tothe archbishop than to either of her other brothers; for the prelatehad the straight and smooth outline of the Greeks,--not like Montagu andWarwick, the lordlier and manlier aquiline of the Norman race,--andhis complexion was feminine in its pale clearness. But though in thisresembling the subtlest of the brethren, the fair sister shared withWarwick an expression, if haughty, singularly frank and candid in itsimperious majesty; she had the same splendid and steady brilliancyof eye, the same quick quiver of the lip, speaking of nervoussusceptibility and haste of mood. The hateful fashion of that day whichpervaded all ranks, from the highest to the lowest, was the prodigaluse of paints and cosmetics, and all imaginable artificial adjuncts of aspurious beauty. This extended often even to the men, and the sturdiestwarrior deemed it no shame to recur to such arts of the toilet as thevainest wanton in our day would never venture to acknowledge. But theLady Bonville, proudly confident of her beauty, and possessing a purityof mind that revolted from the littleness of courting admiration,contrasted forcibly in this the ladies of the court. Her cheek was of amarble whiteness, though occasionally a rising flush through the clear,rich, transparent skin showed that in earlier youth the virgin bloom hadnot been absent from the surface. There was in her features, when theyreposed, somewhat of the trace of suffering,--of a struggle, past it maybe, but still remembered. But when she spoke, those features lightedup and undulated in such various and kindling life as to dazzle, tobewitch, or to awe the beholder, according as the impulse moulded theexpression. Her dress suited her lofty and spotless character. HenryVI. might have contemplated with holy pleasure its matronly decorum; thejewelled gorget ascended to the rounded and dimpled chin; the arms werebare only at the wrists, where the blue veins were seen through askin of snow; the dark glossy locks, which her tirewoman boasted, whenreleased, swept the ground, were gathered into a modest and simplebraid, surmounted by the beseeming coronet that proclaimed her rank. TheLady Bonville might have stood by the side of Cornelia, the model ofa young and high-born matron, in whose virtue the honour of man mightsecurely dwell.
"I understand you, my lord," she said, with her bright, thankful smile;"and as Lord Warwick's sister, I am grateful."
"Your love for the great earl proves you are noble enough to forgive,"said Richard, meaningly. "Nay, chide me not with that lofty look; youknow that there are no secrets between Hastings and Gloucester."
"My lord duke, the head of a noble House hath the right to dispose ofthe hands of the daughters; I know nothing in Lord Warwick to forgive."
But she turned her head as she spoke, and a tear for a moment trembledin that haughty eye.
"Lady," said Richard, moved to admiration, "to you let me confide mysecret. I would be your nephew. Boy though I be in years, my heart beatsas loudly as a man's; and that heart beats for Anne."
"The love of Richard Plantagenet honours even Warwick's daughter!"
"Think you so? Then stand my friend; and, being thus my friend,intercede with Warwick, if he angers at the silly holiday of thisWoodville pageant."
"Alas, sir! you know that Warwick listens to no interceders betweenhimself and his passions. But what then? Grant him wronged, aggrieved,trifled with,--what then? Can he injure the House of York?"
Richard looked in some surprise at the fair speaker.
"Can he injure the House of York?--Marry, yes," he replied bluntly.
"But for what end? Whom else should he put upon the throne?"
"What if he forgive the Lancastrians? What if--"
"Utter not the thought, prince, breathe it not," exclaimed the LadyBonville, almost fiercely. "I love and honour my brave brother,despite--despite--" She paused a moment, blushed, and proceeded rapidly,without concluding the sentence. "I love him as a woman of his Housemust love the hero who forms its proudest boast. But if, for anypersonal grudge, any low ambition, any rash humour, the son of my fatherSalisbury could forget that Margaret of Anjou placed the gory head ofthat old man upon the gates of York, could by word or deed abet thecause of usurping and bloody Lancaster,--I would--I would--Out upon mysex! I could do nought but weep the glory of Nevile and Monthermer goneforever."
Before Richard could reply, the sound of musical instruments, and aprocession of heralds and pages proceeding from the palace, announcedthe approach of Edward. He caught the hand of the dame of Bonville,lifted it to his lips, and saying, "May fortune one day permit me toface as the earl's son the earl's foes," made his graceful reverence,glided from the garden, gained his barge, and was rowed to the huge pileof Baynard's Castle, lately reconstructed, but in a gloomy and barbarictaste, and in which, at that time, he principally resided with hismother, the once peerless Rose of Raby.
The Lady of Bonville paused a moment, and in that pause her countenancerecovered its composure. She then passed on, with a stately step,towards a group of the ladies of the court, and her eye noted with proudpleasure that the highest names of the English knighthood and nobility,comprising the numerous connections of her family, formed a sullencircle apart from the rest, betokening, by their grave countenances andmoody whispers, how sensitively they felt the slight to Lord Warwick'sembassy in the visit of the Count de la Roche, and how little they weredisposed to cringe to the rising sun of the Woodvilles. There, collectedinto a puissance whose discontent hard sufficed to shake a firmer throne(the young Raoul de Fulke, the idolater of Warwick, the impersonation inhimself of the old Norman seignorie, in their centre), with folded armsand lowering brows, stood the earl's kinsmen, the Lords Fitzhugh andFauconberg: with them, Thomas Lord Stanley, a prudent noble, who rarelysided with a malcontent, and the Lord St. John, and the heir of theancient Bergavennies, and many another chief, under whose banner marchedan army. Richard of Gloucester had shown his wit in refusing to minglein intrigues which provoked the ire of that martial phalanx. As the Ladyof Bonville swept by these gentlemen, their murmur of respectful homage,their profound salutation, and unbonneted heads, contrasted forciblywith the slight and grave, if not scornful, obeisance they had justrendered to one of the queen's sisters, who had passed a moment beforein the same direction. The lady still moved on, and came suddenly acrossthe path of Hastings, as, in his robes of state, he issued from thepalace. Their eyes met, and both changed colour.
"So, my lord chamberlain," said the dame, sarcastically, "the Count dela Roche is, I hear, consigned to your especial charge."
"A charge the chamberlain cannot refuse, and which William Hastings doesnot covet."
"A king had never asked Montagu and Warwick to consider amongst theirduties any charge they had deemed dishonouring."
"Dishonouring, Lady Bonville!" exclaimed Hastings, with a bent brow anda flushed cheek,--"neither Montagu nor Warwick had, with safety, appliedto me the word that has just passed your lips."
"I crave your pardon," answered Katherine, bitterly. "Mine articlesof faith in men's honour are obsolete or heretical. I had deemed itdishonouring in a noble nature to countenance insult to a noble enemyin his absence. I had deemed it dishonouring in a brave soldier, awell-born gentleman (now from his valiantness, merit, and wisdombecome a puissant and dreaded lord), to sink into that lackeydom andvarletaille which falsehood and cringing have stablished in these walls,and baptized under the name of 'courtiers.' Better had Katherine deBonville esteemed Lord Hastings had he rather fallen under a king'sdispleasure than debased his better self to a Woodville's dastardschemings."
"Lady, you are cruel and unjust, like all your haughty race; and idlewere reply to one who, of all persons, should have judged me better.For the rest, if this mummery humbles Lord Warwick, gramercy! thereis nothing in my memory that should make my share in it a gall to myconscience; nor do I owe the Neviles so large a gratitude, that ratherthan fret the pile of their pride, I should throw down the scaffoldingon which my fearless step hath clomb to as fair a height, and oneperhaps that may overlook as long a posterity, as the
best baron thatever quartered the Raven Eagle and the Dun Bull. But," resumed Hastings,with a withering sarcasm, "doubtless the Lady de Bonville more admiresthe happy lord who holds himself, by right of pedigree, superior toall things that make the statesman wise, the scholar learned, and thesoldier famous. Way there--back, gentles,"--and Hastings turned to thecrowd behind,--"way there, for my lord of Harrington and Bonville!"
The bystanders smiled at each other as they obeyed; and a heavy,shambling, graceless man, dressed in the most exaggerated fopperies ofthe day, but with a face which even sickliness, that refines most faces,could not divest of the most vacant dulness, and a mien and gait towhich no attire could give dignity, passed through the group, bowingawkwardly to the right and left, and saying, in a thick, husky voice,"You are too good, sirs,--too good: I must not presume so overmuch on myseignorie. The king would keep me,--he would indeed, sirs; um--um--why,Katherine--dame--thy stiff gorget makes me ashamed of thee. Thou wouldstnot think, Lord Hastings, that Katherine had a white skin,--a parlouswhite skin. La, you now, fie on these mufflers!" The courtiers sneered;Hastings, with a look of malignant and pitiless triumph, eyed theLady of Bonville. For a moment the colour went and came across hertransparent cheek; but the confusion passed, and returning the insultinggaze of her ancient lover with an eye of unspeakable majesty, she placedher arm upon her lord's, and saying calmly, "An English matron cares butto be fair in her husband's eyes," drew him away; and the words andthe manner of the lady were so dignified and simple, that the courtiershushed their laughter, and for the moment the lord of such a woman wasnot only envied but respected.
While this scene had passed, the procession preceding Edward hadfiled into the garden in long and stately order. From another entranceElizabeth, the Princess Margaret, and the Duchess of Bedford, with theirtrains, had already issued, and were now ranged upon a flight of marblesteps, backed by a columned alcove, hung with velvet striped into theroyal baudekin, while the stairs themselves were covered with leatherncarpets, powdered with the white rose and the fleur de lis; either sidelined by the bearers of the many banners of Edward, displaying the whitelion of March, the black bull of Clare, the cross of Jerusalem, thedragon of Arragon, and the rising sun, which he had assumed as hispeculiar war-badge since the battle of Mortimer's Cross. Again, andlouder, came the flourish of music; and a murmur through the crowd,succeeded by deep silence, announced the entrance of the king. Heappeared, leading by the hand the Count de la Roche, and followed by theLords Scales, Rivers, Dorset, and the Duke of Clarence. All eyes werebent upon the count, and though seen to disadvantage by the side ofthe comeliest and stateliest and most gorgeously-attired prince inChristendom, his high forehead, bright sagacious eye, and powerful framedid not disappoint the expectations founded upon the fame of one equallysubtle in council and redoubted in war.
The royal host and the princely guest made their way where Elizabeth,blazing in jewels and cloth-of-gold, shone royally, begirt by the ladiesof her brilliant court. At her right hand stood her mother, at her left,the Princess Margaret.
"I present to you, my Elizabeth," said Edward, "a princely gentleman, towhom we nevertheless wish all ill-fortune,--for we cannot desire that hemay subdue our knights, and we would fain hope that he may be conqueredby our ladies."
"The last hope is already fulfilled," said the count, gallantly, ason his knee he kissed the fair hand extended to him. Then rising, andgazing full and even boldly upon the young Princess Margaret, he added,"I have seen too often the picture of the Lady Margaret not to be awarethat I stand in that illustrious presence."
"Her picture! Sir Count," said the queen; "we knew not that it had beenever limned."
"Pardon me, it was done by stealth."
"And where have you seen it?"
"Worn at the heart of my brother the Count of Charolois!" answered De laRoche, in a whispered tone.
Margaret blushed with evident pride and delight; and the wily envoy,leaving the impression his words had made to take their due effect,addressed himself, with all the gay vivacity he possessed, to the fairqueen and her haughty mother.
After a brief time spent in this complimentary converse, the count thenadjourned to inspect the menagerie, of which the king was very proud.Edward, offering his hand to his queen, led the way, and the Duchess ofBedford, directing the count to Margaret by a shrewd and silent glanceof her eye, so far smothered her dislike to Clarence as to ask hishighness to attend herself.
"Ah, lady," whispered the count, as the procession moved along, "whatthrones would not Charolois resign for the hand that his unworthy envoyis allowed to touch!"
"Sir," said Margaret, demurely looking down, "the Count of Charolois isa lord who, if report be true, makes war his only mistress."
"Because the only loving mistress his great heart could serve is deniedto his love! Ah, poor lord and brother, what new reasons for eternal warto Burgundy, when France, not only his foe, becomes his rival!"
Margaret sighed, and the count continued till by degrees he warmedthe royal maiden from her reserve; and his eye grew brighter, and atriumphant smile played about his lips, when, after the visit to themenagerie, the procession re-entered the palace, and the Lord Hastingsconducted the count to the bath prepared for him, previous to thecrowning banquet of the night. And far more luxurious and more splendidthan might be deemed by those who read but the general histories of thatsanguinary time, or the inventories of furniture in the houses even ofthe great barons, was the accommodation which Edward afforded to hisguest. His apartments and chambers were hung with white silk and linen,the floors covered with richly-woven carpets; the counterpane of his bedwas cloth-of-gold, trimmed with ermine; the cupboard shone with vesselsof silver and gold; and over two baths were pitched tents of whitecloth of Rennes fringed with silver. [See Madden's Narrative of the LordGrauthuse; Archaelogia, 1830.]
Agreeably to the manners of the time, Lord Hastings assisted to disrobethe count; and, the more to bear him company, afterwards undressedhimself and bathed in the one bath, while the count refreshed his limbsin the other.
"Pri'thee," said De la Roche, drawing aside the curtain of his tent, andputting forth his head--"pri'thee, my Lord Hastings, deign to instructmy ignorance of a court which I would fain know well, and let me weetwhether the splendour of your king, far exceeding what I was taught tolook for, is derived from his revenue as sovereign of England, or chiefof the House of York?"
"Sir," returned Hastings, gravely, putting out his own head, "it isEdward's happy fortune to be the wealthiest proprietor in England,except the Earl of Warwick, and thus he is enabled to indulge a statewhich yet oppresses not his people."
"Except the Earl of Warwick!" repeated the count, musingly, as the fumesof the odours with which the bath was filled rose in a cloud over hislong hair,--"ill would fare that subject, in most lands, who was aswealthy as his king! You have heard that Warwick has met King Louis atRouen, and that they are inseparable?"
"It becomes an ambassador to win grace of him he is sent to please."
"But none win the grace of Louis whom Louis does not dupe."
"You know not Lord Warwick, Sir Count. His mind is so strong andso frank, that it is as hard to deceive him as it is for him to bedeceived."
"Time will show," said the count, pettishly, and he withdrew his headinto the tent.
And now there appeared the attendants, with hippocras, syrups, andcomfits, by way of giving appetite for the supper, so that no furtheropportunity for private conversation was left to the two lords. Whilethe count was dressing, the Lord Scales entered with a superb gown,clasped with jewels, and lined with minever, with which Edward hadcommissioned him to present the Bastard. In this robe the Lord Scalesinsisted upon enduing his antagonist with his own hands, and the threeknights then repaired to the banquet. At the king's table no malepersonage out of the royal family sat, except Lord Rivers--asElizabeth's father--and the Count de la Roche, placed between Margaretand the Duchess of Bedford.
At another table, the great peers o
f the realm feasted under thepresidence of Anthony Woodville, while, entirely filling one side of thehall, the ladies of the court held their "mess" (so-called) apart, and"great and mighty was the eating thereof!"
The banquet ended, the dance began. The admirable "featliness" of theCount de la Roche, in the pavon, with the Lady Margaret, was rivalledonly by the more majestic grace of Edward and the dainty steps ofAnthony Woodville. But the lightest and happiest heart which beat inthat revel was one in which no scheme and no ambition but those of lovenursed the hope and dreamed the triumph.
Stung by the coldness even more than by the disdain of the LadyBonville, and enraged to find that no taunt of his own, however galling,could ruffle a dignity which was an insult both to memory and toself-love, Hastings had exerted more than usual, both at the banquet andin the revel, those general powers of pleasing, which, even in an agewhen personal qualifications ranked so high, had yet made him no lessrenowned for successes in gallantry than the beautiful and youthfulking. All about this man witnessed to the triumph of mind over theobstacles that beset it,--his rise without envy, his safety amidstfoes, the happy ease with which he moved through the snares and pitsof everlasting stratagem and universal wile! Him alone the arts of theWoodvilles could not supplant in Edward's confidence and love; to himalone dark Gloucester bent his haughty soul; him alone, Warwick, whohad rejected his alliance, and knew the private grudge the rejectionbequeathed,--him alone, among the "new men," Warwick always treated withgenerous respect, as a wise patriot and a fearless soldier; and inthe more frivolous scenes of courtly life, the same mind raised one nolonger in the bloom of youth, with no striking advantages of person, andstudiously disdainful of all the fopperies of the time, to an equalitywith the youngest, the fairest, the gaudiest courtier, in that rivalshipwhich has pleasure for its object and love for its reward. Many a heartbeat quicker as the graceful courtier, with that careless wit whichveiled his profound mournfulness of character, or with that delicateflattery which his very contempt for human nature had taught him, movedfrom dame to donzell; till at length, in the sight and hearing of theLady Bonville, as she sat, seemingly heedless of his revenge, amidsta group of matrons elder than herself, a murmur of admiration made himturn quickly, and his eye, following the gaze of the bystanders, restedupon the sweet, animated face of Sibyll, flushed into rich bloom at thenotice it excited. Then as he approached the maiden, his quick glancedarting to the woman he had first loved told him that he had at lastdiscovered the secret how to wound. An involuntary compression ofKatherine's proud lips, a hasty rise and fall of the stately neck, arestless, indescribable flutter, as it were, of the whole frame, toldthe experienced woman-reader of the signs of jealousy and fear. And hepassed at once to the young maiden's side. Alas! what wonder that Sibyllthat night surrendered her heart to the happiest dreams; and findingherself on the floors of a court, intoxicated by its perfumed air,hearing on all sides the murmured eulogies which approved and justifiedthe seeming preference of the powerful noble, what wonder that shethought the humble maiden, with her dower of radiant youth and exquisitebeauty, and the fresh and countless treasures of virgin love, might beno unworthy mate of the "new lord"?
It was morning [The hours of our ancestors, on great occasions, were notalways more seasonable than our own. Froissart speaks of court balls, inthe reign of Richard II., kept up till day.] before the revel ended; andwhen dismissed by the Duchess of Bedford, Sibyll was left to herself,not even amidst her happy visions did the daughter forget her office.She stole into her father's chamber. He, too, was astir and up,--at workat the untiring furnace, the damps on his brow, but all Hope's vigour athis heart. So while Pleasure feasts, and Youth revels, and Love deludesitself, and Ambition chases its shadows (chased itself by Death),--soworks the world-changing and world-despised SCIENCE, the life withinlife, for all living,--and to all dead!
The Last of the Barons — Complete Page 30
